He Wants to Remember More Than He Wants to Forget
by xxanglophilexx
Summary: He doesn’t like looking at the photographs. He can remember details unlike other people. His mind is better than photographs. So he packs them all away. ::: Remus reflects on Peter, James, Lily, and Sirius. Angsty. RLSB. JPLE. Oneshot.


**A/N: An angsty one-shot. This idea came to me, and I couldn't help myself. Let me know if there is anything wrong with the wedding scene. I'm not British, so if I did something completely wrong, let me know.**

**Pairings: RLSB. JPLE.**

**Disclaimer: Once I sue JKR for emotional trauma because she killed Sirius, maybe I'll have enough money to buy the rights. For now, and until a lawyer decides to take on the case of a crazy fangirl who wants Sirius back, none of it is mine.**

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He doesn't like looking at the photographs.

He doesn't like looking at them because they _aren't right_.

They never catch the shine of Sirius's hair, or the flush of Peter's cheeks. They never can do Lily's vivid green eyes justice, or show James's smirk in just the right way. They _aren't right_.

He packs them all away in a box. Every single one of them. Every album is laid carefully atop another. Pictures are ripped off walls, pulled out of books, located in drawers. These pictures—crumbled and bent and torn—are his favorites.

He still packs them away.

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He can remember details unlike other people. Maybe it is because of the wolf, maybe it is just him. His mind is better than photographs.

Sirius's hair always looks exactly right.

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_November 27__th__, during fifth year._ Sirius, James, and Peter all approached his bed, trying to look innocent. He was worried at the time, tucking a slip of parchment in his book and looking up warily. But soon the three boys disappeared, and in their places were a large, sleek stag, a shaggy, black dog, and a dark, twitching rat. The boys quickly returned, sitting on his bed and excitedly explaining what they had done. Words ran into each other, sentences were picked up by another, and they all knew what the others were saying. Remus knew, too.

Even though he watched the scene through teary eyes, he can still remember it perfectly. He can remember that in his entire life, he never saw eyes as bright. He never saw looks as eager, expressions as satisfied. He never felt the warmth of a family as strongly as he did then. They never hugged as tightly, as gratefully, as happily as that time, that time when they were closer than ever.

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It is his favorite memory of the four of them.

He has a favorite memory of each person. Peter, James, Lily, and Sirius. He doesn't have photographs of any of the memories, and he is grateful for that. He doesn't want such an unfair representation.

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_February 18__th__. Sixth year._ Peter Pettigrew stood defiantly, his pudgy hands balled at his sides. He was a good head shorter than James and Sirius, but he was much rounder. His cheeks were flushed, his mouth set in a firm line. Then, the mouth opened, and he spoke harshly, in a voice that wasn't his own. It was shaking, yes, and he was tripping over his own words. But it didn't matter. Because, in five sentences, he managed to stand up to James Potter and Sirius Black, call them absolute _prats _for hurting that first year, and make them feel lower than flobberworms. Then, with his hands still forming fists, he stalked off in the direction of the first year.

Peter crouched down, his hands relaxing, and apologized to the Hufflepuff first year. He gave her a chocolate frog, a smile, and sent James and Sirius a dirty look on his way back to the dormitory, leaving them to study their feet guiltily.

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Remus likes to remember Peter like that. Yes, Peter was a follower. He adored James and Sirius. But a few times, he stood up to them, let them know what they were doing was wrong. That memory makes Remus smile in a bitter way. Peter followed Sirius and James to the end, never suspecting what one of them was doing.

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_June 9, 1978_. James came rushing into the Three Broomsticks, his hair mussed and his cheeks reddened by the wind. He didn't even sit down. He just leaned over the table, pressed his hands to the flat surface, and started some strange Irish jig. He vaulted himself onto the table and started to sing something that Remus isn't sure can be classified as a song. He danced and sang until Madam Rosmerta threatened him, and Sirius grabbed James by the ankles and pulled James down. Breathless, James plopped down on a chair and began to speak rapidly.

"Lily—me—engaged," are the only words that Remus can remember James saying. They were the only words that he needed, though. Within seconds, Peter ordered a round of Butterbeers and Sirius was shooting a barrage of questions at James. James answered every single question, a silly smile on his face. The smile didn't disappear until two hours later, when he shared that he and Lily had agreed to celebrate their engagement together with dinner. Then that smile morphed into that patented James Potter Smirk, and he loped off to celebrate, with undoubtedly more than dinner.

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It was a perfect moment for James. Remus is fond of thinking of James's horribly mussed hair, his shining eyes, his boyish smile and clever smirk. All of those things defined James. They were who he was. James loved Lily and Peter and Sirius and Remus. The moment contained all of them.

Remus likes that smirk.

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_May 8, 1979. _Remus and Lily paused in front of the alter, music playing quietly around them. Lily let her hand slide slowly off Remus's arm, and they turned to face each other. Remus gently took hold of her veil and lifted it up, folding it over and smoothing it down. She smiled at him, and he leaned in to kiss her cheek. In her ear, he whispered, "I love you," and she whispered it back.

It was a Muggle wedding, per Lily's request. Remus was fascinated with the whole process, the concept of needing someone to "give you away". Lily had asked him to take the place of her late father, and he had accepted, rather happily. He felt like a proud older brother as he watched she and James recite their vows, exchange rings, and then kiss chastely at the alter.

A few steps away from the door, Lily dropped her bouquet and grabbed James by the tie. Tugging him down, she wrapped his arms around his neck and kissed him passionately, daringly, in front of all of her friends and relatives. She didn't mind that the younger boys were trying to sneak a peek up her shockingly short wedding gown. She was engrossed in James, engrossed in the moment, engrossed in a thing that was hers, all hers, and had nothing to do with the war. When she pulled away, her eyes were shining.

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Lily was like that. She did daring things. She did them for the people that she loved most. She could be sweet one moment, then shocking the next. Remus can remember when Lily leaned in close to his ear and explained that she lived for surprises, and she loved surprising people.

She jumped on his back next, taking Remus by surprise and sending them both tumbling into the lake.

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_An unknown date._ Unknown because it doesn't matter. Because the moment doesn't depend on a date. It's just a Saturday morning.

Sirius lied in bed peacefully, his thick, dark lashes resting on high cheekbones. He was splayed out in bed, taking up most of the covers. His breathing was quiet and steady.

Remus, propped up on an elbow, watched Sirius's bare chest rise and fall. He watched Sirius's legs twitch, entangled in a number of sheets and blankets. He watched Sirius's head loll to the side, and his fingers curl unconsciously. He watched the light stream through the window and light up Sirius's half-covered body, playing games on his pale face. His hair gleams in the early morning light.

Sirius's hands slowly opened completely, his palms pushing into the bed. He made a low noise in his throat; a tired, contented noise. Sighing, he rubbed his eyes gently and turned over in bed, taking his tangle of sheets with him. Remus moved to the side slightly to avoid an elbow to the eye. Sirius, feeling the movement, opened his bleary eyes and flitted them around until he could focus on Remus. Then, the corners of his lips curled into a languid smile.

"Mornin', Moony," he murmured drowsily. "Love you."

Remus dropped his chin onto Sirius's shoulder, pressing his face to Sirius's neck. He gently nipped at Sirius's earlobe, his lips ghosting against the curve of Sirius's ear.

"I love you, too," he whispered back. "Love you."

Sirius smiled, pressed a lazy kiss to Remus's lips, and settled back against his pillow. "Forever and ever," he murmured quietly. "And ever and ever."

"And ever," Remus finished, his voice almost inaudible.

He closed his eyes.

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Remus doesn't want to remember Sirius like this. He doesn't want to remember Sirius at all. He doesn't want to remember sunlit mornings and whispers of forever.

But he wants to remember Sirius even more.

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He keeps three photographs. He creases them carefully in the middle, and tucks them in his pocket. He takes them out every Saturday morning, when the sun is streaming through his kitchen window and casting ray of light on his table. He unfolds each and lays them out in front of him.

_Two bodies._ Splayed on the floor, silent. White faces. Empty, glassy eyes. A shock of red hair.

_A short, stubby finger_. A nail caked with dirt. Rubble everywhere.

_Sirius._

Laughing.

He ignores the _Prophet_. He just sits and watches as he drinks coffee. He watches as two pictures stay still. He watches as one moves madly.

He pulls Sirius's thin, frayed, fading crimson dressing gown around him tightly as he stares at the photographs with brimming eyes. Tears cling to his lashes, never quite letting go.

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During one of those sunny Saturday mornings, Sirius once said he laughs when he wants to cry.


End file.
